


The Wolf's Dancer

by Katalyna_Rose



Series: Vhenan AU [8]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arlathan, Alternate Universe - Elvhenan, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, NSFW, Slavery, Young Fen'Harel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-10-26 04:23:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10779504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katalyna_Rose/pseuds/Katalyna_Rose
Summary: In which Lyna, a slave trained as a hunter, a dancer, and a courtesan, is the reason Fen'Harel goes to war with the Evanuris. The abuses she suffers are more than he can bear, and he will not tolerate the woman he loves being treated that way.





	The Wolf's Dancer

**Author's Note:**

> This work now has a sequel! Sort of.
> 
> Falon'Saota  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/10997028

Long ago, when the world was still young, before betrayal forced a wily Wolf to shut away half the world, before war and death made that young Wolf wily, before kings became gods, a general served an Evanuris. He loved her as all her people loved her, was devoted as all her people were devoted. He wore her marks with pride and sat at her feet in his form of the Wolf and at her side as an elf, nearly her equal in the power and respect he commanded.

It was a life he loved, a life of ease and plenty, where anything he wanted became his. Yet when he decided he wanted the little dancer, one of Andruil’s hunters who was also one of Ghilan’nain’s little birds, his life of ease and plenty was changed forever.

“A gift for you, Wolf,” Ghilan’nain told him, waving an arm in a grand gesture, “to thank you for tonight’s banquet and congratulate you on your most recent victory against Falon’din.” The dancer that had performed at the banquet at Andruil’s request stepped forward. She was resplendent in the dress she’d danced in, a filmy material that hugged her full breasts and flared out around her strong legs. He had seen her point the toes of one foot straight up to the sky while her other remained flat on the ground, had seen her throw her body through the air with ease, lithe muscles obeying her every command. Now she also wore expensive jewelry, the wrapping on the gift, so to speak. During her dance, her long neck had been wrapped in satin cloth that glimmered in the firelight, but now she wore a thick gold choker studded with diamonds and amethysts that drew attention to the rare violet of her eyes. Bands of gold with subtle etchings of foxes and halla gripped her biceps and cuffed her wrists. Earrings of diamonds and amethysts set in gold marched up both her ears to the tips. She was ravishing, but she approached with her hands clasped in front of herself, her eyes downcast, her head bowed so that her hair, like raw silk, fell forward to obscure her beautiful face. As she had danced, she had been free, wild, her own creature, but now she approached him as a slave, given as a gift and a reward as if she were only an object.

And it shamed him that part of him wanted to accept.

“Normally, I would demand her weight in diamonds for this gift I am offering to you,” Ghilan’nain continued, brushing the dancer’s hair away and lightly kissing her cheek. She tilted her head slightly to allow her mistress access and he saw that her Vallaslin was strange, unique. Though Andruil’s marks rimmed her round, fair face, her small chin bore a part of Ghilan’nain’s marks. He had never seen the Vallaslin of two Evanuris mingled like that. Ghilan’nain raised a brow at him. “Is she not to your liking?” she asked, sounding genuinely hurt for some reason. “I dare say, you couldn’t take your eyes off her during dinner, Wolf! I thought you would enjoy my gift.”

“She is beautiful, my lady,” he told her with a bow, playing his part though he noticed how the dancer flinched almost imperceptibly. Her eyes did not rise from the floor in front of her bare feet. He noticed inanely that the rings on her toes from the dance, which had been plain gold bands to catch the light, had been upgraded to jewel-encrusted things that would have caused her harm if she danced in them. “I was merely surprised by the intermingling of her Vallaslin,” he continued. Ghilan’nain smiled as if he were a particularly clever child and stroked the marks on her slave’s chin.

“Ah, yes,” she sighed, sounding pleased. “My darling Andruil and I enjoy her so much that we decided to share for once. Married though we may be, our assets are still separate. But this little bird is precious to us both.” Using the hold she still had on the dancer’s chin, she tilted the woman’s face up and kissed her lips gently. The dancer’s eyes remained downcast and she accepted the touch without reaction, though he wondered if he imagined the slight tic in her jaw when Ghilan’nain released her. The Evanuris turned her gaze back to him and pushed her slave forward hard enough that she stumbled before righting herself. She stood before him, eyes downcast and hands lightly clasped before her, the picture of a demure young servant, until Ghilan’nain lightly cleared her throat. Instantly, the dancer fell gracefully to her knees, a fluid movement only one trained in both dancing and hunting could achieve, and pressed her forehead to the stone at his feet. She kept that position for long moments while he struggled with the urge to sweep her up in his arms and tell her that she did not ever need to bow like that again. When she sat up at last, she did not rise from the floor, but she looked up at him, meeting his eyes for the first time. In her gaze, hidden behind a wall of stoicism he had seen many times and knew how to look past, he saw her terror. But the terror lay side by side with rage in equal measures; the woman before him was not broken as Ghilan’nain clearly thought.

“It is my honor to serve you tonight, my lord, if you would have me,” she murmured, her voice musical and light and just a little husky. And he hated himself as his loins stirred for her; he should not want her when she did not want him, no matter what words her masters put in her mouth.

“She bears all the usual protections already,” Ghilan’nain told him, seeming satisfied with his reaction to her gift. So enthralled he was by the little dancer before him that it took him long moments to understand exactly what Ghilan’nain was implying by telling him that the dancer was warded against pregnancy and disease, as well as her earlier mention of demanding the slave’s weight in diamonds; this was not the first time the dancer had been given to another.

He raised his gaze from the slave on the ground to the Evanuris’s, but knew he could not refuse her gift. No matter what honors he was being given, no matter what power he held in Mythal’s court, Ghilan’nain was still his better and he had no choice but to bow to her wishes. She would expect to receive her slave back in the morning after she had been ravished, bruised and beaten by the extravagant preferences of the nobles she had been whored out to in the past. But he could not do that. He would, however, be forced to accept the dancer’s company.

He bowed to Ghilan’nain, a flourishing gesture that he had to struggle to imbue with the proper sincere gratitude and flattery. “You do me much honor with this gift, my queen, far more than I deserve,” he told her, and had to hide a flinch when one of his many braids fell forward and smacked the dancer in the eye. She merely blinked and didn’t move, even to brush away his hair. He straightened quickly to meet Ghilan’nain’s gaze and brushed his hair back over his shoulder. She smiled, pleased with herself.

“You have earned this honor, Wolf,” she told him. With a cruel smile she looked from her slave to him, then turned to leave. “Enjoy,” she called over her shoulder. He took a deep, steadying breath and looked at the dancer who still knelt at his feet.

“Rise,” he told her gently. With that same fluidity she had dropped to the ground, she stood, looking as if she simply floated to her feet. He might have suspected that she was using magic to enhance her movements, but there was no telltale glimmer in the air around her; she was simply that graceful. Her emotions and thoughts were so hidden that he could not sense anything from her but calm acceptance, though her eyes told a different tale. In a gesture he doubted she had ever received before, he held out his arm to her. She hesitated, which told him much, but eventually she carefully wrapped her hand around his arm, touching him only with the very tips of her fingers, and allowed him to guide her down the gilded hall of Mythal’s palace. As they walked, he covered her hand with his, pressing her palm against his skin, and felt the subtle flinch in the muscles of her wrist as she fought the urge to pull away. He wanted to reassure her of his intention, but he dared not speak to her until they were safely hidden away in his rooms, shielded from observation by careful warding. If anyone attempted to eavesdrop on them, they would hear what they expected to hear and nothing else. Most would hear only the sounds of a couple in the throes of pleasure, though some might hear his pleasure and her pain.

When he shut the door to his rooms behind them he allowed her arm to drop from his. She looked around at his room, the entryway with its vaulted ceilings and carved marble wolves guarding the door. She ventured further inside tentatively and he followed. She unerringly found the bedroom first, but she stopped just inside. He watched her take in the understated quality of his belongings, his things bearing far less grandeur than she was no doubt expecting. He had chosen the muted colors of a shaded forest, deep green rugs lining the marble floor, copper candelabra holding mage lights, the bed of living wood lined with fewer than a dozen pillows. His wardrobe was the only truly opulent thing about the room because of what was expected of him. He allowed her to look her fill, her face kept carefully blank, as he removed the pins in his hair that held the wolf’s skull in place. He hung up the head piece carefully and shook out his braids, rolling his head on his neck in an effort to alleviate the headache he felt coming on and pondering how to be the most gentle with the dancer.

Her touch surprised him when he felt her slim hands on his shoulders. He stiffened as she dug her thumbs into the knotted muscles of his neck, then allowed himself to relax under her touch. She soothed his headache away in mere moments with her expert massage. Her hands dipped to his shoulders, kneading the muscles there, and for long moments he allowed her to. When she pressed herself closer, her warmth seeping into his back through his layers of silk clothing, and her hands began to wander lower, he stopped her. He turned in her embrace and took her hands and her brow knotted in confusion. He opened his mouth to tell her that he had no intention of bedding her, but he knew that would be a lie; he wanted her. But he did not want her as she was, stiff and unwilling, merely playing a part. If he did bed her that night, he wanted it to be because she genuinely wanted him to.

So he told her something different. “I believe it would be helpful if we knew each other’s names,” he said, smiling gently for her. “My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions.” She blinked at him, the script she knew so well having just been torn to shreds.

“Lyna,” she whispered after a moment’s hesitation. He smiled at her.

“Lyna,” he repeated. “A beautiful name.” She ducked her head and lowered her gaze, clearly unsure of herself now. He brushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear and she looked up with wide, startled eyes before returning to her study of the rug under their feet. “Lyna, I know what it is you expect of me,” he told her softly. That muscle in her jaw ticked. “I know you expect me to take my pleasures from you however I wish. But I will not.” She didn’t look up. Her stiff posture did not relax. She did not believe him. He sighed and moved away from her, settling himself on his couch before the fire. She blinked after him and remained where she stood and he sighed again. “If you would join me here, I would like to speak with you for a spell.” Immediately she moved toward him and settled herself on her knees on the floor in front of him. He scowled at her choice of seating, wondering who had taught her that she could not sit on the furniture, and patted the couch beside him. Again she hesitated, but obedience won out over caution and she sat beside him, her back straight and stiff, her gaze on her hands, clasped in her lap. “Would you speak with me?” he asked her when she remained still and silent.

“What about, my lord?” she asked, her voice light and colored with false interest, though she did not move a muscle except to speak. He sighed again.

“Would you tell me of Andruil and Ghilan’nain?” he asked her, careful to always frame his requests as questions. Her mouth opened and closed several times as she struggled with what to say, no doubt trying to figure out what would please him most.

“They are kind mistresses to me,” she finally settled on, and he laughed without humor.

“Kind, are they?” he asked. She ducked her head, not quite a nod. “It is not kind of them to whore you out as a gift,” he told her. She pressed her lips together.

“As my lady Ghilan’nain has said, I am worth my weight in diamonds for a single night,” she said softly, that rage returning in her eyes; she thought he was devaluing her, when in fact the opposite was true. “My mistresses have made fortunes from me alone,” she told him, her demure posture straightening to something resembling pride. “For three nights in my company, a lord in Elgar’nan’s court gave them two dragons, his weight in gold, and my weight in sapphires. He told them when he returned me that he would have paid twice that for the pleasure of my company.”

“And in what condition did he return you?” Solas asked her gently. She did not respond, but her chin jutted stubbornly. He liked that. “You are worth more than your company, Lyna,” he told her, and her brow knotted in confusion again.

“I am a slave,” she said, as if she were repeating something she had heard or said many times. “I am a hunter sworn to provide meat for my castle. I am a dancer sworn to provide entertainment for my court. I am a courtesan sworn to provide pleasure for my mistresses or those they deem worthy of my company. I am not my own.”

“But you should be,” Solas told her.

“But I am not,” she said forcefully, then flinched and bowed her head as if expecting a blow that would not come. Her shoulders relaxed slightly after a moment when he did not strike her, but she did not raise her head again. Solas sighed.

“Lyna,” he breathed, and leaned in. He brushed her soft hair over her shoulder and she tilted her body toward him and her head away, arching herself alluringly to him just as the best trained courtesan would. He touched the clasps of her choker and she did not move. He unclasped it from her, frowning as he saw how the heavy piece had been digging into the base of her neck, the clasps scraping at her skin and leaving angry red marks behind. When the piece fell free and he pulled it from her to set it aside, his mouth dropped open in shock and horror at what was revealed and he understood why her neck had been hidden from view all night. Hidden by the cloth while she danced and the choker while she was presented to him were dozens of bruises, so dark a purple as to be nearly black and ringed by torn flesh from the teeth that had marked her. Studying the horrifying parodies of love bites, he recognized two distinct shapes repeated over and over and suddenly understood.

“Andruil and Ghilan’nain marked you this way?” he asked her, rage bubbling in his mind.

“To remind me who I belong to as I lay with another,” she told him calmly, again sounding as if she were quoting another.

“As if the lines on your face, drawn in your own blood, were not enough!” he hissed, then rose to pace, shaking with fury. To receive bites that deep must have been excruciating, and then to wear that heavy piece of jewelry over them must have ached fiercely. From the color of the bruises, he guessed that she had received them only minutes before being sent to the banquet to dance, had likely been wearing bandages under the gem-studded cloth she’d had around her neck to prevent any blood from showing through. He took a shaking breath and ran a hand through his hair, tangling his fingers in his braids in an attempt to calm himself, then turned to her. She was attempting to fit the heavy choker around her neck and reaching back to clasp it again. He rushed to her and removed the piece from her hands. She frowned at him again.

“If it disturbs you to see the marks, my lord, I will cover them,” she told him, still playing her part. He swallowed the lump of rage in his throat so that he could speak to her.

“There is no need to cause yourself discomfort with that thing,” he said. He touched her neck with gentle fingers, careful not to directly touch any of the marks. Slowly, he healed her neck of the bites and bruises, leaving the long column of milky skin smooth and unblemished. She swayed slightly when he was done, then touched her neck with a frown. Her fingers pressed into the spot where the deepest bruise had been, then her eyes shot wide and she leapt to her feet.

“No!” she cried, her nails digging into the unblemished skin of her neck. “They will be so angry, they will think I healed them, rejected their marks!” She paced, the fabric of her pale dress snapping around her legs as her magic surged in panic. When her nails began to leave welts across her own skin, Solas rose and captured her hands in his. He healed her neck once more.

“I have healed you and left the mark of my magic behind to prove it,” he told her soothingly. “They will not be angry with you for this.” Still she shook, her eyes wide and stark, and he wondered what punishment she had once received when she healed the marks herself. Daring a gesture she would likely have no idea how to respond to, he folded her trembling form into his arms, embracing her. As he had predicted, she stiffened, until suddenly she melted against him, clutching at his chest for comfort as she took ragged breaths and struggled to calm herself.

“Why?” she asked him tremulously.

“Because you deserve better,” he told her. She shook her head.

“I am a slave,” she said, but it sounded not like the rehearsed speech from earlier but more honest and confused. She sounded young. “You are a general who commands great respect and I am just a slave, given to you for this night for your pleasure.”

“What you have is not what you deserve,” he told her. “I would show you the same respect I would give to anyone, no matter their rank. It does not matter that you are Andruil and Ghilan’nain’s slave, you are still Elvhen. You are still worthy of my respect on that basis alone.” She shook her head again even as she pressed herself deeper into his embrace.

“That is not what they teach us,” she whispered.

“I know,” he told her. “It is something I learned the hard way, by fighting for the rank I have. When I took a form, it was at Mythal’s own request, but I began this life at the bottom of the hierarchy. I have fought for everything I have and won it ten times over. But I have never trampled another to reach my rank, and I never would. We are all Elvhen.” She looked up at him, then, her violet eyes searching his face for any hint of deceit. She would find none, for he was completely in earnest with her. He meant every word. Her delicate fingers clenched with a hunter’s strength on his shoulders and she pulled herself up to his height to crush her lips against his. It was not the tantalizing kiss of a courtesan that she gave him, but rather the raw, primal energy of the woman she truly was that she showed him. He accepted her touch but demanded nothing, his hand on her neck guiding her back, gentling her when she attempted to lose herself in him. As much as he understood her desire to be lost, he would not take that from her. He was likely the only person who had ever told her that she had value beyond her looks and skills, and she was in a delicate place because of it. If she had been born an elf rather than a spirit who had taken a form, even her own parents would not have told her what he just did. Instead, they would have told her to mind her place and please her mistresses no matter what. It was the lesson all slave children were taught from the cradle. Her parents, if she had any, were no doubt proud that she had risen to be the concubine of two Evanuris, would believe it was the greatest honor their daughter could ever receive, regardless of the damage done to her physically and mentally. And they were not wrong to think so.

He pulled back from her and denied her touch when she tried to press herself into him again. He sat on the couch once more and settled her beside him, drawing her close. She laid her head on his shoulder and he allowed her tears to soak into his shirt, unmindful of the costly fabric.

Her tears dried after a time, when the fire in the hearth before them was burning low, and she raised her head. She slid off the couch to kneel before him, looking up at him with a smile, her eyes clear of their earlier mix of terror and rage. “They will punish me if I return without your scent on me,” she told him. “They will believe I have shirked my responsibilities.” Her hands massaged his thighs, her nails digging into him at intervals in an expert way that made his muscles clench and his member stir for her. She lowered her gaze to his lap as he swallowed hard and tried to control his baser urges, but when she looked up at him again without raising her head, glinting violet eyes peeking out from behind dark lashes, he lost the battle as his cock stood at attention. Still he grabbed her hands to still them as she reached for the laces on his trousers.

“There are other ways to leave my scent on you,” he told her, his voice deeper than he meant it to be. “If you sleep with my skin against yours, it will be enough. You do not need to do this.” She tilted her head at him, calm and curious.

“You do not find me attractive?” she asked him. He coughed slightly. “Or do you prefer the company of men? I had not heard that about you.” He coughed harder.

“Ah, no, Lyna,” he struggled to say, his thumbs stroking the soft skin of her wrists without his permission just to feel the silken warmth of her. “I prefer women, and you are very beautiful, but I would never force this on you.” She smiled, and it was not a courtesan’s smile, all sly seductiveness. It was _her_ smile, wild and woman, and it nearly melted him.

“And that is why I offer it to you,” she told him. She ducked her head again, but it was shy and sincere rather than an act or a gesture of fear. “I have never lain with another of my own choice, and I have never lain with someone who did not wish to hurt me in some fashion. You have made it very clear that you desire my comfort and I sense no lie in that. You have given me the greatest gift I have ever received already by simply allowing me to choose. And I choose to give myself to you, if you would have me.” Her eyes were wide and sincere as she looked up at him, and he found that he could not fight her.

He tilted her face up by curling one finger under her chin and leaned down to meet her lips. She twined her tongue with his in an expert dance that would melt any man’s knees, but it was not what he sought. He pulled back and lifted her into his arms. She gasped lightly, clutching at him, until he laid her gently on his bed.

“Not like that,” he murmured as he joined her there. “If you truly wish to lay with me, do so as yourself, not as what you have been trained and conditioned to become.” She blinked at him and merely watched as he gently divested her of her jewelry. He pulled down the bands on her biceps and kissed the skin he revealed, removed the cuffs on her wrists and kissed the speeding pulse underneath. One by one, he removed the rings from her toes and kissed the tops of her feet. Then he slowly kissed his way up her legs, his hands massaging the muscles as he went, and she began to tremble with desire. He pushed her dress up and out of the way as he went, reveling in her soft sighs of pleasure and the light twitching of her muscles beneath his careful touch.

At the tops of her thighs, when one more inch would reveal her core, her intoxicating scent filling his nose and muddying his thoughts, he stopped. He placed a comparatively chaste kiss on her clothed belly and leaned up to gently kiss her lips. But she did not allow him that. She surged up beneath him and flipped their positions so that she was straddling him, her core hovering over his cock, which strained toward her with increasing fervor until the pressure became painful and only her touch could soothe it. She claimed his lips in a searing kiss that set his nerves afire and his hands settled on her hips to knead her flesh. She pressed herself down until she rested on his clothed cock, pressing it into his belly, and he groaned into her mouth at the added pressure. She rubbed herself slowly along his length and his breath burst from his lungs at the pleasure of friction, even through their clothes. She was ecstasy personified as she rubbed against him, her pace increasing quickly until she was nearing frantic, her quick breaths and soft groans in his mouth threatening to undo him. It was unpracticed, raw and primal, and she was no courtesan as she gave a lewd moan and bit into his bottom lip. She was a woman who wanted him, who needed his touch to soothe the burning flood in her belly, and he was all too happy to comply. As she moaned in her need, he flipped them again and she cried out, struggling briefly to master him, but his strength was greater than hers and he held her.

“Hush, vhenan, and I will ease you,” he murmured into her lips and she stilled at once.

“Vhenan?” she repeated, her voice small as she shaped a no-doubt unfamiliar word. He nipped lightly at her lips and did not take back the endearment that had slipped past his lips without thought. After a moment she surged up beneath him again, but instead of trying to master him she simply wrapped herself around him and devoured his mouth. He accepted her fevered touch, giving as good as he got, until she was moaning and lifting her hips to desperately rub against him. His hand on her hip pressed her down and she subsided reluctantly.

“Hush, vhenan, and I will ease you,” he repeated, this time whispering the words into her ear and allowing his hot, damp breath to caress her. She shivered and allowed herself to relax for him, though her arms stayed wrapped around him. The hand on her hip moved lower until he could hike up her dress and run a finger across the top of her slit. She gasped in a ragged breath as he bit his lip to stop the moan that threatened to overtake him when he realized she wore no smallclothes. She was utterly bare beneath her skirt, and he suddenly needed her naked beneath him. He sat her up only long enough to strip the dress from her in hurried motions, and she laughed breathlessly as he threw it across the room as though it had offended him. She settled back into his bed, her pale hair a halo around her face in the dim firelight, her skin glowing before him. A flick of his hand and the room lightened slightly, just enough to banish that shadows that threatened to hide her beautiful body from him. For long moments he simply beheld her glorious form, spanning her waist with his hands, cupping her generous breasts and thumbing their dark peaks to make her moan, feeling along the length of her collarbone and down her strong arms to her delicate wrists and hands. She writhed beneath his touch, her knees brushing across his sides, her breaths coming in harsh pants, and he returned his attention to where she needed it most.

He glided a finger down her slit, then gently delved inside. He groaned to find her wet and glistening, nearly dripping for him already. He explored her folds, rubbing her moisture all along her core, until she made a needy sound deep in her throat and lifted her hips, her hands searching aimlessly through the bedclothes. Gently, he lifted the hood that hid her little bud, and the first touch of his finger against the bundle of nerves had her bucking beneath him and crying out loudly, her head pressed back into the pillow. When he kissed it a moment later, her harsh breathing stopped for a moment before it redoubled in pace, moans slipping past her lips at intervals. His tongue circled the bud gently while she moaned and struggled to keep her hips still for him, and his eyes rolled back in his head at the ecstasy of her taste. Her honey was smooth like cream and sweet, coating his tongue and sliding down his throat. He sucked her clit into his mouth gently and she gave a short, sharp scream. He let her go immediately, but she clutched at the back of his head, her nails digging into his scalp through his braids. She tugged at them, silently begging him for more, and he complied. He sucked on her clit again and she arched to him, her face a mask of pained ecstasy, her eyes squeezed shut and her mouth open wide. When he delved his tongue into her entrance, she flooded his mouth with her honey and gave a long, low moan.

“Yes, that’s it,” she murmured, her heels digging into the mattress as her nails dug into his scalp. He licked and sucked at her entrance for long moments, hardening his tongue to thrust it into her at intervals and enjoying every moan and sigh and cry wrenched from her lips. When he replaced his tongue with his finger, she sucked in a breath between her teeth and arched up to him. He tongued her little clit while thrusting softly with his finger, searching inside her until he found that little swollen spot of roughness and pressed against it. She screamed and bucked beneath him, and he felt her sheath clench desperately at his finger. He kept pace with her frantic movements, riding her out as she orgasmed for him and licking up what he wrought from her. The pressure in his sack was nearly unbearable, her pleasure heightening his need for her, but he would not press. He intended to be as good as his word and take no more than she willingly offered.

When her orgasm finally subsided, she was left gasping and trembling with aftershocks, and he held her tightly to his chest as she slowly calmed. She rubbed her face against his shoulder affectionately, her arms encircling him in return. Finally she heaved a great sigh and was still.

“Are you alright?” he asked her softly, trying to ignore the ache in his balls.

“I’ve… never…” she began, then stopped and took a shaking breath. “I’ve given that pleasure many times but never before received it,” she finally told him. “It was… incredible.” She rubbed her face against him again, as if in thanks. Her hand traveled down his clothed chest to his groin and she cupped him, laughing breathlessly at what she found. “And you are still in need,” she murmured in a silky tone as she hefted the heavy weight of his testicles in her hand. He caught her wrist.

“There is no need to rush, Lyna,” he told her. “Take your time, and do nothing that you do not genuinely desire. I will ask of you nothing that you do not wish to give.” She released him.

“Then take me,” she murmured against his neck. “I wish to give myself to you, to know that pleasure as a noble would, as someone who chooses it for herself.” He turned to her, but her eyes were wide and earnest and her words were spoken from the heart and not from her usual script. It was Lyna who asked him to enter her body and show her that it could bring her pleasure, not the courtesan slave who offered what she had to under duress. He smiled at her and nodded slowly. She smiled in return as he sat up and removed his shirt, tossing it away carelessly. She ran her hands across his chest, feeling his muscles and teasing him with her nails as he pulled impatiently at the ties on his trousers. He heard something rip as he finally pulled them away and kicked them off, but he didn’t care. Lyna laughed, a low and husky sound that shivered into his core, real in a way that a courtesan’s titters never could be. She liked that he was eager for her, she liked that she could make him shiver, make the fine hairs on his arms stand at attention for her just by running her nails across his nipples. He covered her body with his own, kissing her desperately, and she rose to meet him but allowed him to lead. He slipped a hand between their bodies and petted her core gently, making certain that she was wet and ready to receive him. She arched up, wetting his finger easily, and he angled his cock at her entrance. Slowly, gently, he slid into her. With painstaking care he inched into her sheath, taking care not to hurt her, but though she was slick and ready she was tight, her giving flesh yielding only so much to him. He pulled back to look into her face and found her eyes wide and unfocused, and he realized his mistake. He could be as careful as he wished, but if he did not keep her in this moment, in his bed with him and not lost in memories of pain, she would not receive him easily. He stopped moving. She blinked.

“Solas?” she murmured, her unfocused eyes finding his and some awareness bleeding back into her features. She was not broken. He smiled gently for her and caressed her cheek.

“If you wish to stop, I will stop,” he told her sincerely. Her brow furrowed slightly as she struggled to return to the present moment. He kissed the corner of her mouth and she turned to him. The kiss began as the smooth, practiced glide of the courtesan, but as he whispered words of encouragement and tenderness against her lips it did not stay that way. She broke from her training and devoured him with her mouth, her raw energy thrumming through him. “There you are, Lyna,” he whispered against her mouth. A sudden rush of moisture where their bodies mingled met his words, and he wondered if she liked that he used her name. “Lyna, do you wish to continue?” he asked her, and the wet clench of her sex told him that he needed to use her name as often as he could manage to bring her the greatest pleasure.

“Yes,” she murmured, arching her back to beg with her body. “Yes, please, Solas.” He slid another inch inside and she moaned and writhed beneath him.

“Lyna, my Lyna, find your pleasure with me,” he murmured at her ear, nibbling lightly along its length, tugging gently at her many piercings until she was trembling and writhing and her sheath was sucking him in as she clenched for him. And finally he was seated fully within her, hilt deep and throbbing with the need to move, to thrust, but he remained still as her body adjusted to the intrusion. He waited, murmuring her name over and over into her ear, until she lifted her hips to try to force him deeper within her. Only then did he move. A shallow withdrawal was followed by a short thrust, and she cried out at his ear with her pleasure. Her nails bit into his back, and he arched to her touch, driving his hips forward again. He propped himself up on his extended arms so that they could see each other, and he nearly came undone at the sight of her. Her pale hair was stained dark with sweat at her brow, the rest of it fanned out around her head and clinging in soaked curls to her shoulders. Her deep purple eyes were nearly swallowed by the dark of her pupils, her bow-shaped lips swollen from his kisses and parted around her moaning breaths. She looked up at him from her hooded gaze as if he was her entire world, and it shook him to his core how much she seemed to need him. Droplets of sweat, highlighted by the firelight, trickled slowly between her breasts as they bounced with his thrusts into her body. She was resplendent.

Her smooth, well-muscled legs clutched at his hips, dragging him further into her body as she raised her hips to meet him, begging for speed. He gave it to her, thrusting hard into her giving little sheath, and she cried out and clutched him tighter. Her nails dug into his shoulders as though she would never let him go and he took her mouth in a searing kiss that she returned with a whimper. She was so hot and slick around his cock, gripping him tightly each time he pulled out to thrust, and he found himself pulling almost completely out of her before thrusting back in with as much force as he could muster so that he could feel her muscles clench at him desperately and then hear her cry out softly in pleasure as he sheathed himself to the hilt once more. She was a symphony of sensation, a feast for his senses. Her soft skin under his hands, the silken taste of her mouth, the sounds of her ecstasy, the sight of sweat drenched skin haloed by firelight, the luscious scent of her arousal in the air around them all combined to drive him mad. She was unhinged, raw and wild as she bucked her hips and met his thrusts, and it was far more alluring than the trained touches and controlled movements of the courtesan simply because it was _real_ and it was _her_ and he wanted that with a dangerous strength.

Her cries increased in pitch and her nails scrabbled frantically at his back as she neared her peak. Her eyes threatened to slide closed until he captured her chin in his hand and whispered her name once again. Her eyes locked with his as she slipped across the razor’s edge and fell into pleasure. She screamed and clutched him, all her muscles frantically clenching and releasing and clenching even harder, and he struggled to hold on, to ride her out before finishing.

But then, “Solas!” she screamed desperately, her head pressed back into the pillow and her eyes still locked on his and her head thrashing without ever severing that connection, and he couldn’t hold on. With a brutal yell he followed her down, pumping hot seed into her core with short, frantic thrusts until at last they were both spent. Her eyes finally slid closed in relief as her orgasm subsided, and he pressed his sweaty forehead against hers.

“Lyna,” he whispered as his cock softened inside her and felt her sheath clench on him one more time. He groaned and pulled out, then simply rested there for long moments, his weight resting on his elbows and his forehead pressed against hers as they simply breathed together.

Finally he found the strength to pull back from her and she moved to rise but he pressed her gently back down. She allowed it, but confusion showed in her eyes and the tilt of her head. He smiled and kissed the corner of her mouth.

“Allow me to tend to you, Lyna,” he requested. She blinked with uncertainty but nodded. He rose from the bed but didn’t bother finding his clothes. He went his washroom and cleaned himself off as quickly as he could, then wet a couple of cloths for Lyna. When he returned she was toying with her hair and had that confused frown on her face again. He smiled at her, still so beautiful as she laid there with sweat drying on her skin. With careful touches, he cleaned up the mess they’d made between her legs. He tossed the soiled cloth in the general direction of the washroom, then used the second cloth to wipe the sweat from her skin. She sighed contentedly as he rubbed her down with unhurried strokes, and she seemed halfway asleep by the time he was done. He tossed the wet cloth in the general direction of the other one and lay down beside her, gathering her to his chest. She went willingly, her delicate fingers clutching at him as she rested her head on his shoulder.

“Thank you,” she murmured on a sigh, then chuckled slightly. “That was… lovely.” He smiled and kissed the top of her head.

“I am pleased that you enjoyed yourself, Lyna,” he whispered back, and her leg smoothed up his to rest her knee at his hip.

They were quiet for a while, and he would have thought she was asleep but for the sleepy kisses she kept pressing against his chest. He thought about what would happen to her in the morning when he would be forced to send her back to Andruil and Ghilan’nain and grew cold. He would have no choice but to send her back, but could he retrieve her from them?

“If you could have anything you wished, Lyna, my little dancer, what would it be?” he asked her in a whisper as he smoothed his hand up and down her back.

“The freedom to choose,” she replied instantly, her voice dark and deep with emotion, until she gasped and tensed in his arms. “I-I mean… That is, I- I would never…” she stammered out in a panic, her previously relaxed and sated mood shattered. He held her tighter.

“Hush now, my Lyna, I would never tell another soul what it is you say here,” he comforted her, hoping she would hear the sincerity in his voice. She buried her face in his neck and murmured something about “watchful ears,” and he chuckled. “I have taken great pains to ward these rooms against eavesdroppers,” he told her, a secret he had thus far carefully guarded now spilled to a woman who belonged to another. But he was not afraid.

“My jewelry is spelled,” she whispered on a breath, so softly he had to strain to hear her. He shook his head.

“The listening spells on your jewelry were replaced with the wards on my rooms the moment you entered,” he told her. “Whoever is listening will hear only what they expect to hear.” She relaxed in his arms, her stiff form melting against him once more.

“Good,” she murmured in relief. They were quiet a moment longer.

“So you wish to be free from Andruil and Ghilan’nain, to choose for yourself who you bed?” he asked her.

“I know that I should be honored to be theirs, to be of such great value to them,” she told him. “But each time they barter me away to the highest bidder I come back more damaged than before, and not just in body. I know I should be honored beyond words, grateful even, that it was Elgar’nan himself who bought my maidenhead, but I shudder with disgust at that memory. He forced me to lick my own blood off of him, and that was the mildest of his desires for me. Andruil just loves to brag about the price he paid for that night with me, compares the payments of all others to it. With my virginity, she bought her position as Evanuris. Elgar’nan paid for my virtue by imparting upon Andruil the power and rank of our highest kings. And I hate them both for that.” Her words dripped with her disdain and he clutched her closer as she shuddered in his arms.

“You have been their courtesan since Andruil gained her rank?” Solas whispered in horror. “That was a thousand years ago!” Lyna laughed darkly.

“I am well aware,” she told him. “I count the years since my service began and wonder how many more I have to suffer.”

An idea came to him then, one that would doubtless earn him Andruil’s eternal enmity and likely Ghilan’nain’s as well, one that might just make him something of a pariah to all of Elvhenan, but he didn’t care. It was a damn good idea.

“When I returned to Mythal, victorious over Falon’din and his forces,” he told her softly, “she promised me a boon. She gave me no restrictions, told me I could have anything I wanted. I asked to think on her favor before making my request. I could ask her for you.” She stilled in his arms, even stopped breathing for long moments.

“For me?” she asked in a tiny voice. “Andruil and Ghilan’nain will never give me up, not even to Mythal! It took _two dragons_ and most of a lord’s personal fortune to get them to part with me for a mere three days! They will never relinquish their claim on me.”

He smiled, thinking of all the many things he’d seen Mythal do with that silver tongue of hers. “She can be quite… persuasive,” he assured Lyna. “If I ask her for you, she will see it done. And I will not keep you as my prisoner. You will be as free as any of Mythal’s servants to choose who you wish to be with. You will not be a courtesan any longer, if you wish.” She sat up in his arms and looked down into his face.

“You would truly ask for me as your war prize?” she asked him. He smiled.

“I am enjoying your company, and a thousand years is far too long for you to have suffered like this,” he told her. “I would gladly ask for you as my boon.” She shook her head, frowning in confusion.

“We barely know each other,” she reminded him. “You have shown me more kindness in this single evening than I have ever known, true enough, but Mythal has offered you a boon without restrictions. It seems to me that you could ask to join the ranks of the Evanuris, yet you would throw that away on me?”

“I have no desire to be one of them,” he told her honestly. “I am content in my role and that sort of power corrupts even the most well-meaning of the Elvhen. I have no wish to bear that burden.”

“But why me?” she asked again.

“True, we have known each other only a single evening, but do you not feel drawn to me as I do to you?” he asked her, gently brushing a stray curl back from her face. “I wish for the opportunity to see what this might become, to see what you could do with the freedom to choose. But if you would prefer that I not ask for you, I will respect that.”

“No, I-“ she began, then stopped and took a deep breath. “If Mythal could secure me, wipe my Vallaslin and replace it with hers, would you keep me at your side?”

“No, Lyna,” he told her. “I would give you the freedom to choose that you desire so deeply. I would not force you to remain with me if you do not wish to be. If, however, you decide you want to be with me I would not turn you away. I confess, I am somewhat fascinated by you. The chance to learn more of you is quite alluring.” She was silent for a long time, staring off into nothing as she thought, and he could not read the thoughts behind her eyes.

“Then ask,” she said at last. He grinned and nodded, then pulled down beside him to sleep.

In the morning, as they both had known would happen, Lyna returned to Andruil and Ghilan’nain, and the short-lived listening spell he had attached to one of her earrings told him that Ghilan’nain beat her for allowing the marks of their teeth to be healed from her neck. It told him also, in the aftermath when she was resetting a few bones by herself, that she muttered to herself about the night before to get through the pain. As she healed only the broken bones, all that she had been permitted to heal, she whispered what she had felt to choose to lay with him and to be cherished in bed as she never had been before. Then, just before the spell faded, she sighed heavily and murmured that it was a nice dream that he would ask for her, but she knew her lot in life. And he felt as though he had been punched in the gut.

Lyna wore a look of stunned awe even through the agony of having her old Vallaslin removed from her face and her new marks given. Mythal’s branches twined across her face, the deep purple that he had requested for her far more pleasing than the angry red her marks had been before. The purple branches served to highlight her unusual eyes and emphasize her prominent cheekbones. It was far lovelier than the bastardized combination of Andruil’s and Ghilan’nain’s Vallaslin had been. When the ritual was complete and she had been given rooms in Mythal’s palace and been told that she would be a huntress and occasionally an entertainer, she found him in the library. Longing, a spirit he had known since before he took a body, pointed her to him then vanished through the ceiling. He put down his book as she approached, that stunned awe still present in her expression, and kissed her hand with a smile.

“You asked for me,” she murmured, disbelief clear in her voice. “And Mythal actually convinced Andruil and Ghilan’nain to let me go.” She gave a half-hysterical laugh. “I can scarcely believe it.”

“I keep my promises,” he told her with a smile. She finally met his eyes instead of staring beyond him, then her numbness broke and she threw her arms around his neck and embraced him, hiding sobs in his chest. He held her close and had never been more certain of his decision.

She stayed with him. Though she had offers aplenty of other partners, other lovers, she chose him after several years on her own, learning to simply be herself. They called her the Wolf’s Dancer, for she always had a bounce in her step when he was nearby and she gave her best performances when he was at the head table to watch. She rose in Mythal’s ranks, her skill with a bow earning her the title of Lead Huntress after a mere century in Mythal’s service. She brought in the best meat with the cleanest kills, she taught the young ones how to skin a hare and hold a bow. And always, at the end of each day, she retired to her Wolf’s bed and she chose what she did there. Some within Mythal’s court thought she had cast a spell on him for Mythal’s most favored general to have chosen a courtesan from Andruil’s slaves. Yet as time passed and she proved her skills and their relationship bloomed, the rumors died away. By the time she had been named Lead Huntress, no one questioned that she earned what she had.

And yet, as time passed, it was no longer enough for either of them.

“Solas, ma vhenan, if I could have anything at all, I would want freedom,” she said to him one night as they lay curled up in their bed. He had just finished healing the shattered bones in her arm that one of Mythal’s nobles had given her simply because she had been in the wrong place at the wrong time and the man had been angry. When Solas had found her, guided by a spirit of Compassion, both her eyes had been swollen shut and all her magic had been drained away. She had managed to crawl into a dark corner but she could not heal herself and she could not call to him for help without her magic. The noble had meant for her to die. He had looked at her face with its Vallaslin and seen an object, not a person, a possession that he might break to make himself feel better. A spirit of Rage had been born in that darkened corner as Solas healed the worst of her injuries and gathered her in his arms to take her back to their rooms. He was furious.

“How would I give this to you, ma sa’lath?” he asked her in a whisper, still fighting the rage that threatened to overwhelm him, that made him want to search out the one who had hurt her and end him.

She sighed heavily. “I don’t know,” she admitted. She fell asleep in his arms as he was still trying to puzzle out how to give her what she wanted, to protect her from the abuses that came with being a slave. But no one stopped being a slave in Elvhenan.

Lyna had been cornered by two of Mythal’s nobles who remembered her days as a courtesan, though she was three centuries past that time in her life. They commanded her to pleasure them, but she refused as was her right as Lead Huntress. They took their pleasure from her anyway. Solas found them in the midst of it and they fled at the sight of him, knowing that they had overstepped. He held her as she sobbed and shook. She was not the same after that.

Solas took the matter to Mythal. The nobles were hers, and Lyna was hers, and so it fell to her to punish her people for overstepping. But she did nothing. She did not punish the two who had violated what few rights Lyna possessed, she simply sent him away from her court in irritation. She was a goddess, she told him, and she did not have time for his petty grievances.

And it was too much, the final straw to break his back. He returned to his love after birthing another spirit of Rage and he gathered what essentials they would need and he fled with her. They wandered the wilderness, staying out of sight, until he figured out the way to truly set them free. He accidentally scarred himself burning the Vallaslin off his face, but he removed hers cleanly and without pain. The pain the Evanuris caused when they removed Vallaslin was a choice, and one he chose to dismiss. She felt only a sensation of cool water on her skin as he scrubbed her marks away with his magic.

“Ar lasa mala revas,” he told her, relieved to have finally given her what she asked him for.

It was Lyna who found the girl shivering and alone in the cave. She was one of Andruil’s, a courtesan as Lyna had once been who had run away. But unlike Lyna, she was not trained as a hunter as well and she was dying of the elements. And so they freed her from her Vallaslin and taught her to survive. And when she left them she was healthy and grateful. And she found them again, years later and hundreds of miles away from where they’d found her, and she had a dozen others like herself with her and she asked the Wolf and his Dancer to free them. Each slave had a story, and each story was a fresh horror, and Solas and Lyna realized that they could not simply live in solitude, content with each other. The Evanuris were too powerful, too sure of themselves, and they were destroying the People.

And so the Wolf and the Dancer began a revolution.

**Author's Note:**

> What can I say? I wanted an Arlathan AU. I have no regrets!
> 
> In one completely random moment at some point in Vhenan (https://archiveofourown.org/works/11293317/chapters/25265934), Solas takes a moment to wonder what Lyna would be like in the days of Arlathan. One thing he mentions is that she would be worth her weight in diamonds for a night of sex if she were a slave. And he hates himself for thinking it and cuts off the thought before it's complete. I don't really know why, but that line has stuck with me. Now that line has spawned this story! Yay!
> 
> Why did Lyna belong to Andruil and Ghilan'nain, you ask? Pfft, I don't fucking know, I like them as characters. They're interesting! Lay off...
> 
> I needed some sexy times but I also needed angst. And so this little slice of weird was born! Seriously, no regrets.


End file.
